Home- השיבה הביתה
by Lipush
Summary: They're both where they truly belong. A one-shot tag to 11x02


**A/N- This is just a tag to the heartbreaking episode that was 11x02.**

**Cannot believe we won't see Ziva anymore. **

**Hopefully we at least see her guest-starring...**

**Anyway, after all of that, this is my after-thoughts one shot. Or- Ziva's, to be exact.**

**You know the drill, I don't own NCIS, blah, blah.**

**Sorry for typos, I know my English sucks, but I'm seriously working on improving myself, word!**

**Please leave your reviews.**

* * *

**Home**

She lets the soft blow of air dry up her tears, as she wordlessly says her last goodbyes to him.

He says it's not easy, the hardest thing he's forced to do.

It's not easy for her, either, as she sucks in a gulp of air, tries to calm her weeping heart, hold herself from calling out, running to him, holding onto what they could have, never would though, refuse to let go.

But they both know she's not going to.

The cold wind chilling her body on that October night in the Sde Dov airport, is almost mocking. Only few days ago, Tel Aviv went through one of the worst heat-waves in the last months, but suddenly today, it turned freezing cold.

She's looking around, focusing on the flow of passengers making their way to the aircraft, knowing they're all going home, that soon enough, she'll have to do the same.

She came back to Israel in order to find some solace, a shelter, even though her homeland long ago stopped being what it was meant to be, 'home', only a constant reminder of the heartache she went through since childhood. All those she had lost. Those she forced to leave, those whose blood still stain her hands.

Dina Bashan was her epiphany. Oh, she already knew that this world, this never-ending loop of bloodshed, fear, and haunting ghosts, was never meant to be her calling. She wanted to be the Ballerina; she admired the simple science of art, the beauty of literature.

Being a child, forced into her father's world, being raised among Shin-Bet and Mossad officers, there was never a place to just…be. She remembers still reading the poetry of Yehuda Amichai, admiring the simplest of his words, the love he conveyed through short sentences, love for life, for people, for…almost everything.

She remembers the hilltops of Tel-Sheva, a small child running about barefoot, sparing minutes in the long warm afternoon to just play with the Bedouin children, taste the worm delicious tea that the old shepherd offered from time to time, when noticing the children coming back from their daily amusement.

Muddling through so many life forsaking experiences- abandonment, war, captivity, endless deceit and disappointment in life, she wishes she could just relax. Start fresh. A white sheet.

She has to let go of the past.

And she has to let go of him.

With a heavy heart, she knows it is time to say goodbye, physically, to her man-child, and metaphorically, to everything he represents. The tender acceptance she found at NCIS. The kind wise man that proved to be more of a father to her than her own has ever been. The cheerful babbly goth forensic-scientist that was like a true friend, a selfless, caring, ever there friend.

McGee, with his easy going, almost shy, unsure attitude, when it came to the world around him; his loyal friendship and support.

And, of course- Tony.

The aircraft roars at take-off, and finally, detaches from the ground. With a sigh, she turns to leave.

Her legs like bricks as she makes her way back to her vehicle. It is still cold as she leaves the airport, taking the second exit to drive up highway 6, north towards Herzliya.

Tony will be alright.

They all will.

And tomorrow is a new day.

Thinking ahead, her "I will" list is almost empty. Her ballerina dream locked and buried in a box, just pointed at new dreams she still wishes to achieve.

Books to read. Professions to study.

Life to live.

Life away from so much guilt and demons and bloodshed.

This is her shot.

And she's determined to cherish every breath, every sight, every word, every new opportunity ahead.

She'll start fresh.

She'll cry and mourn the child, the inner child, that was put to rest years ago, by cruelty and injustice and death.

That inner child though, is like a phoenix, destined to rise up from the ashes, shake herself free, and start living again.

Looking around now, she knows it's the best place to start. Surrounded by the familiar scents, by her land and people and both better and worse memories.

This will be the first war she's actually eager to fight.

And sure to win.

Her sadness mixed with relief, she's dreading the thought of no more seeing her team, no more seeing the yearning in Tony's eyes, no more hearing his voice.

But she knows that this is what she has to do, in order to not lose her mind, to find her right path, her inner peace. Because she cannot allow herself keep sinking in despair.

Reaching the northern farm, the moon guides her back, as she enters the house, removing her clothes, carrying her cup of tea to her bedroom. Reading the daily newspaper, it doesn't take long before her eyes start fluttering and exhaustion takes over.

She lets slumber envelope her.

* * *

The next morning, the heat-wave is back full force, starting early morning.

The farm is lightened by the sun, the Galilee hills spread proud at distance.

It is a good day.

She does some shopping at noon.

Buys some fruits, fresh Pittas, olives and that special home-made Hummus she likes.

Driving down Daliat Al-Karmel, she travels the old market, the kind salesmen offering scarfs and hats in funny prices.

She finds her way back from her relaxing road-trip few hours later.

The unusual experience seems so strangely surreal.

Almost unfamiliar.

She has to smile at that.

Suddenly hearing her laptop beeping, she sits down on the couch to read the message sent.

It's Tony. His message is simple- "Thinking about you. Am back home".

With a somewhat sad but also hopeful smile, she whispers softly- "Me, too, Tony. Me too."

* * *

**And so it ends**


End file.
